


Dying doesn't seem as bad whenever I'm with you.

by FreshSliceOfLemon



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Anthony and Henrey are already in a relationship, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Blood and Gore, Eventual Romance, FTM Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Husk's name is Henrey because hu m a n, M/M, Multi, Protective Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Slow Burn, Smart Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Touch-Averse Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Trans Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshSliceOfLemon/pseuds/FreshSliceOfLemon
Summary: Alastor's world is flipped the moment it hits 1 PM. The world is supposedly ending in a apocalypse, and it's up to Alastor, Anthony, and Henry to break, mend, and try their goddamn best to survive in a dystopian where the only solution is to rot.Rated "mature" because of extreme violence and death.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Dying doesn't seem as bad whenever I'm with you.

**Author's Note:**

> MAKE SURE!! YOU READ!! THE FUCKIGN T AGS!!!
> 
> Also this is me sort of projecting onto Alastor because he's a comfort character of mine.
> 
> There is barely any gore or violence in this chapter. There will be a lot of that in upcoming chapters.

Alastor noticed that something was wrong on September 22, 2020.    
  
Something was off.

It was 5 AM.

His chest hurts. It's his fault that it hurts, but he doesn't want to take it off- the aching pain. Not yet. Not when everything is going so good for him. He should've been to bed right now, but he was too excited to. Itching for something- anything that could lull him to sleep. However, laying still didn't work. He wanted to feel the blood drip onto his palms, the cold metal of the blade as he slid it through the skin of the unsuspecting victim he decided to choose. He wishes that he could do it- but tonight wasn't an option.

Tomorrow, well- technically in a couple of hours, he was going to attend his first day of work. As a radio host. A lifelong dream of his, his mother was rather proud of him. 

He usually let out his excitement with murder.

It was the best way to vent out how he feels, like painting a big canvas with many shades of red, from pastel to the deepest of maroons. The feeling of murder was addicting, he wanted more. He needed more. He knew that it was bad, that others considered it was horrible, that you'd be sent to "Hell" for murdering. But it was a habit, and he indulged in it. 

And everyone knows how old habits always die hard.    
  
The addiction is treatable, but the pain always lasts.

_____

It was now 9 AM. Only having at least two hours worth of sleep, but it was enough for him. Enough for how ecstatic he was. He was finally able to work at his dream job, something that most people here aren't able to fulfill. He was already dolled up and ready to go, so he grabbed his messenger back, gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek, and left. 

He should've expected something bad would have happened. 

1 PM drifted closer and closer. It's quiet. But it feels like something is slowly crawling up his leg. Alastor knows that nothing is there.

But it still feels like something phantom is there.

He hated this feeling.

He suppressed a shudder, bouncing his leg up and down almost as if he were impatient, sitting at his desk. He had lunch break. Nobody was in the same room as him currently. He was alone, him, his thoughts, and the shadows that always taunted him were here. Something had twisted, before curling up to die in his stomach. Heartbeat raised at a higher speed than what is considered calm.

But it's okay, because he's smiling.

His chest hurts more. Maybe it's because something is off. It's tight. He should've taken it off, but lunch break is over soon.

His body jolts, hearing the blood roar in his ears when he hears the not-so-quiet gunshot. The person that shot it didn't use a suppressor. The person that shot it was nearby. 

Screams.

There were screams. Sharp cries that rang out and sometimes cut off, like they were wailing to be saved.

Alastor expected the walls to be thicker, expected the foam layers taped to the walls would be able to block more sound. He stands, the world stopping for a second or two before he grabs his coat, slips it on and bursts out of the door.

More gunshots.

Varying screams from varying people. 

He's nervous- no, anxious. He doesn't know what's happening, but at the same time, he craves for more of that feeling. The way his adrenaline makes his breathing rush, hands shake, eyes wide- the way it caresses his brain gently as if he could break at any second. He wants more of the feeling. It doesn't matter if he jumps every time he hears more gunshots. The thrill is what makes situations like these best, in his opinion.

He doesn't know what exactly is going on, though.

He rounded the corner, his everlasting smile turning small and close-lipped. He grunted, air suddenly disappearing from his lungs as a firm object was shoved into his chest. He winced, letting out a hiss as he held a hand up to it. Great, he just forgot the pain, but now it just  _ hit  _ him with full force. Literally. 

"Yo- hey! You're alive?" It was... Anthony. Anthony, the guy he had met months ago whilst hunting. The blond was only two years younger than him, with a personality that had always interested Alastor. He had never met someone with the same exact chaoticness as the Italian, it intrigued him. 

Anthony always looked familiar to him, like a childhood friend. 

Alastor doesn't remember much of his childhood, to be frank. 

More heavy thumping of hurried footsteps rushed all around him, the shuffling and thumps of shoes against thin, maroon coloured carpet- however, to Alastor… Nothing seemed to matter in this exact moment. The radio host looked up at Anthony, since said male was at least a couple of inches taller than him.

“I-” A wheeze makes his throat tighten, as if thorns suddenly sprouted inside of it. He coughed into his elbow, batting his eyes. He kept his smile up all the while, clearing his throat. “Yes! It would seem that I am, indeed, alive.” He let out a small titter, straightening up before his gaze slid down to look at what was in Anthony’s hand. “Might I ask, why do you have a gun?”

“Didn't ya- didn’t ya watch the damn news today, dude? The world’s ending.” 

Alastor chuckled.

“My, that’s quite a shocker!”

“I-” Anthony cut himself off, glancing down the end of the hallway before grabbing Alastor’s wrist tight and pulling him towards the taller male. Dirty blonde hair that fell to Anthony’s shoulders blocking his vision, arms wrapping around him tight- there’s so much sounds. So many sensations. Too much. Too much. Too much-

_ It’s all too much _ .

Alastor batted his eyes, and what felt like a second later- he realized that he was outside of the building. He gripped tight on whatever he was leaning against, however feeling the warm and soft surface was Anthony’s bicep. It just made him feel worse. Standing up straight and taking a step away from Anthony, fixing his hair. He held a hand up to his chest, trying his best to take deep, stable breaths. He can get through this. The pain was only temporary.

There was faint screaming outside, Alastor could have sworn he saw something grey move in the corner of his vision. One smell that was prominent, instantly hitting his senses was this disgusting rotting smell that was almost intoxicating.

He couldn’t stand the feeling of being touched.

It was pins and needles, a constant stabbing ache. He tried his best to ignore how wide his eyes are, or how his hands twitch or shake, or how the ground swung left to right like a rocking boat for a short moment.

“...Al-” 

Alastor looked up to Anthony, having realized that he was staring at the dark pavement, heating and burning from the glaring sun. “...Yes, dear?” He spoke, voice almost hollow. “You should know this by now, please refrain from touching me.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes.

“I think that saving our  _ lives  _ is more important than  _ me  _ touching  _ you _ !” Anthony’s voice was heavily laced with… Concern? Alastor didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. People were confusing, emotions were confusing- he couldn’t… It was suffocating. But maybe that was because his chest was in pain, binded with a restraint that he may have been wearing for too long. He couldn’t- he  _ couldn’t-  _ god, why did it feel like bugs were crawling under his skin? Was it because Anthony touched him? Just a simple gesture to cause him to act like this? _   
_ _   
_ “ _ Alastor! _ ”    
  
Alastor’s breathing hitched, grip tightening around Anthony’s shoulders. He sucked in a deep breath, eyes wide and blinking frantically. Static had filled his ears for a couple of seconds, nails digging into skin. “Ah… I-” He should take off his binder. However, Anthony will be suspicious of him, wouldn’t he? He’ll leave it on for a couple more hours. “-I lost consciousness for a moment there, but no matter!” He grinned, slipping his hands away from Anthony. Did he stumble to end up in a position like that? 

“Okay…” Anthony mumbled, “Your comin’ with me, aight? Ain’t have enough time to go to your house to get your things. Gotta get to my car,”    
  
“...Alright.”   
  
This whole thing was new to Alastor.    
  
Five PM rolled around.    
  
He was at Anthony’s boyfriend's house.    
  
He blinked, eyes becoming wide for a second or two. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it swiftly.    
  
“Yeah- so, uh, this is Henry… And yeah, this is Alastor. Met ‘em at the forest, the one that’s near the shit McDonalds.” Anthony let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the two. Henry had boarded up the windows while they were gone, along as made sure that any doors that reached the outside were shut tight. Henry narrowed his eyes at Alastor, arms across around his chest. He was wearing a navy blue hoodie along with sweatpants and these fluffy pastel orange socks that made Alastor’s eyes linger on it for a couple more seconds than usual.    
  
The socks looked like something Anthony would give as a gift.   
  
“You… Bought him here?” Henry asked, voice gruff. “Thought you were talkin’ about a different Alastor whenever you spoke about him.” His gaze stayed on everything besides Alastor, walking across the dark flooring to make his way over to the couch. Alastor caught sight of a few handguns and a rifle on the coffee table. Anthony followed after Henry, as if on instinct, “You know ‘em? Thought there was only one Alastor in this city that I could be talkin’ ‘bout.” He mumbled.   
  
Alastor stood there, only having whatever the hell he had bought to work with him.    
  
It wasn’t much.    
  
Just a messenger bag that had a gun, two small knives, a couple of black papers, a small first aid kit a bit bigger than the size of his palm, a journal that only had a couple of pages filled out, and pens. He had a lot of pens. He bought the bag everywhere he went, feeling almost… Lost without it if he left it behind. He was distant, away from Anthony and Henry. It was clear that the two had a bond. It was clear that he wasn’t needed here. He didn’t even know why Anthony bought him here.    
  
“‘Ey, are y’ just gonna stand there?” Anthony asked, looking over his shoulder from where he sat. Alastor blinked, quickly shaking his head and making his way over. Anthony and Henry didn’t take off his shoes, so neither did he. Sitting down beside Anthony, he looked over at the two.    
  
“We need to discuss what we’re going to do about electricity, water, and food.” Henry said, “Winter hits, we go further up North.” His voice was smooth, having thought this over well.    
  
“Wh- we ain’t gonna go up North, babe-”    
  
Alastor’s smile turned close-lipped at the word ‘babe’. He’d rather not hear that, especially right now of all things.    
  
“We have to go North, Anthony.” Henry narrowed his eyes, gaze sharp. “Everyone’s headin’ down South, where it’s warmer. More people means more zombies.”   
  
“We can just- avoid them! I don’t see why we can’t-”   
  
Alastor’s gaze slid down, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves as he listened to the two argue. They were stressed, he could tell. But something dug deeper than that. So he didn’t intervene.    
  
_____   
  
  
It had passed a couple of days after. Alastor had stayed inside most of the time, although the walls felt like they were closing in on him day after day. He was antsy, drumming his fingers rapidly against tables, bouncing his leg up and down, getting into petty arguments with Henry, ignoring Anthony whenever he asked for something  _ stupid _ , ignoring the both of them whenever they spoke about needing more ammo, more food, more whatever-   
  
The news had mentioned to stay inside and keep calm.    
  
Alastor ignored the calls from his mother. Anthony would furrow his brows every time he heard the phone ring, narrowing his eyes with a soft frown on his face as he looked up at Alastor.    
  
Electricity started to run out once the second week hit. They tried their best to preserve it- keeping the lights off, not using the stove, making sure their phone battery didn’t deplete to the point where it needed to charge. Then the food started to go old, throwing out the milk and eating food before it perished all of the way. They had a tub full of water, sometimes refilling it. It was good that the water didn’t stop working yet, they could just fill up without the need for food sometimes. Alastor was a bit used to this already, he didn’t eat much, having a small stomach and appetite had its benefits in situations like these.   
  
He started to become even more antsy. Often getting less sleep than usual, pressing cold tipped fingers to his eyebags in hopes that it’ll disappear, in hopes that he’ll look less pale and more human. His dreams were meaningless, often him in a forest walking in what seemed like circles. There was nothing for him here. He didn’t know why he didn’t leave Anthony and Henry yet. He didn’t know why whenever he mentioned leaving the two of them behind in heated arguments, Anthony would open his mouth, hesitate, and then close it once again. The two would sometimes leave the house for hours on end, coming back with supplies- whatever they could find.    
  
The news mentioned to stay inside and keep calm once again. Alastor threw the remote at the TV in response, getting up and walking to the guest room where he was currently residing. The TV had a big crack on it. Henry gave Alastor a glare the next time he walked out of his room. The calls from his mother died out. And so did Alastor’s patience.    
  
It was nighttime now. Heading towards week three, the end of September started to crawl up their necks and whisper threats. They needed to leave. Alastor’s knuckle knocked onto the doorframe twice, walking into Anthony’s and Henry’s shared bedroom. He cleared his throat;   
  
“We need to leave.”    
  
He murmured, voice a little above a whisper. He knew the two weren’t sleeping. Stress never waited for sleep.    
  
“We need to leave.” Alastor repeated, voice more clear this time. “There’s nothing here for us. October is only in a couple of days.” He said, arms folding behind his back. Henry let out a sigh, sitting up and getting off of the bed. They all silently gathered their things, packing any food they had, storing what’s left of any water they had- Anthony was in charge of taking care of the car, making sure there was enough gas and such.    
  
And with that, Henry sat down in the driver's seat. Anthony sat in the passengers, and Alastor sat down in the back. The car wasn’t that big, but it had enough space for five people. It had enough space for what little they had.    
  
They started driving south.    
  
Alastor started to dread the first thirty minutes in. Apparently, Anthony thought that Arianna Grande and Shawn Mendes were good taste in music. Apparently, Henry didn’t seem to fucking mind what music Anthony played.    
  
“Would you stop playing that?” Alastor snapped once an hour had passed, “If I hear another  _ minute _ of this type of music, I’m burning this whole care down.” He muttered. Sure, impatience and stress have been eating at him, but he’ll never admit that. Anthony let out a snicker, but took out the cd of Shawn Mendes.    
  
“Have anything better to play then, Radio Man?” Anthony asked.   
  
And Alastor does.    
  
He almost forgot about the cd he had in his bag quickly running his hand through it to find it. Mother Mother was far more superior than Arianna Grande or Shawn Mendes. He hands it to Anthony, who raises a brow at it for a second or two before opening the case and inserting it into the built in cd player. Not even minutes in, and Anthony is wide-eyed, mouth open, and looking as it he just got shot into another dimension.    
  
“Holy shit dude- this is fuckin’ amazing.” He grins, looking at Alastor with stars in his eyes. Alastor could have sworn there was a faint half smile on Henry’s face. Alastor smiles back at Anthony. More hours pass by, Anthony looks like he’s about to sleep. Henry has his usual bitch resting face on, although by the way he slowly blinks, Alastor can tell there’s exhaustion weighing down his eyelids.    
  
So, he speaks up.   
  
“I can drive,” Alastor straightens his back, “You look quite exhausted, dear.” Driving sounds way better than sitting in the back seat doing nothing for hours besides breathing and looking at the scenery outside. Henry gives him a curt nod, stops the car in the middle of the road (nobody is here. There’s nothing here besides a straight road.) unbuckles his seat belt, gets out and switches seats with Alastor. Alastor refills the tank with gas Anthony had stored, before sitting down and starting to drive the ongoing road that never seemed to end. 


End file.
